This is WORKING.
I've been reading voraciously, preparing, hashing and rehashing spreadsheets and checklists and blogrolls. I've been ideating circles around this for years - so much so that I didn't really believe it when I drove the bike up the ramp into the moving truck and polished off the last of the detritus into a final Goodwill run.
That was a month ago - right on schedule, I'm proud to say - and I'm still pinching myself at the dizzying momentum we've gathered.
Here, life is sparklingly written and brilliantly edited. Here, resources are funneled directly into Stuff That Is Awesome, not swallowed by Stuff That Is What It Is. Here, adventure isn't something you have to wait for.
Here, we can fly.
We drove past Hill AFB today on the way to the bridge.
As we swept past the front gate on the 15, I was overwhelmed by tenderness. What if you weren't allowed past the gates of your hometown once you reached the age of consent? What if they took away your right to visit the place you're from? How would you be different?
If I'd been allowed back onto base - any base, because the childrens' poetry that keeps a military family sane is that they're all essentially the same, no matter where they're plunked - I wonder how I'd be different. If I could walk the flightline path, listening to the fighters scratch their way across the sky and the far-off thumping of boots on the parade field, I might still have the part of me that can comfortably place a root.
I might be an easier nut to crack.